


Dad

by MelodicRunes



Series: Irondad and Spiderson [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Adopted Peter Parker, Angst, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Irondad, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, spiderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-25 22:15:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18270308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelodicRunes/pseuds/MelodicRunes
Summary: He stared at the floor as he waited, as Peter’s words reverberated in his skull.“You’re not my dad, Tony.”“...not my dad…”“...not...dad…”“...not my dad…”Or, the one where Peter calls Tony Dad.





	Dad

**Author's Note:**

> Holy cow! I was absolutely floored by the love for my first post a few days ago, so here's another one! This one takes place in the same timeline as "Peter meets Steve" but earlier on. Here, Peter is 15ish and newly adopted (maybe one day I'll get around to writing how that came about?). 
> 
> If you enjoy it, let me know! I have a few others in this series I'm considering posting!

Tony sat hunched over on the couch as the wind whistled outside the penthouse windows. He stared into space replaying his last conversation over and over again. 

 

_ “Just where do you think you’re going,” Tony asked, eyebrow raised at seeing Peter in the suit. _

_ “Out,” came the short reply.  _

_ “Nuh uh. Not on a school night.” Tony rose from his seat and took a few steps toward his son.  _

_ Peter rolled his eyes. “You aren’t my dad, Tony. I can do what I want!”  _

_ And with that, he shoved the Spider-Man mask over his face and somersaulted out the window.  _

 

That had been hours ago. Seven hours, thirty-four minutes, and twenty-two seconds ago, but who was counting? (Tony. Tony was definitely counting.) He had tried to track Peter’s suit, but the kid must’ve gotten his nosey friend to hack it again. The tracker was gone; destroyed. Nothing showed up in FRIDAY’s scans. And FRIDAY couldn’t communicate with Karen anymore. Tony briefly considered programming a lecture sequence into FRIDAY’s protocols; he knew the AI was just as worried as he was, if AIs could worry. Peter’s phone was left sitting on his bedside table and the kid had gone so far as to ignore all of Tony’s calls. Complete. Radio. Silence. 

 

So Tony was left with nothing else to do, but sit and wait. He stared at the floor as he waited, as Peter’s words reverberated in his skull. 

 

_ “You’re not my dad, Tony.”  _

_ “...not my dad…”  _

_ “... _ **_not_ ** _...dad…” _

_ “...not  _ **_my_ ** _ dad…”  _

 

As Tony was preparing another round of I’ve-had-this-kid-less-than-six-months-and-he-already-hates-me, he heard a particularly loud clap of thunder from the storm outside. He nearly jumped off of the couch but quickly righted himself. 

 

“Boss, Peter’s back.” 

 

Tony’s head jerked up toward the ceiling for a long moment. “What,” he asked in surprise. 

 

“Peter is back. He’s climbed through his window.” 

 

Tony jumped from the couch and quickly headed for the kid’s room. He opened the door without knocking and, sure enough, there stood Peter, Spider-Man mask in hand. 

 

“Fri, scan for injuries,” he commanded. Neither of them moved. It was as if an invisible wall kept them exactly six feet apart. 

 

“Peter has sustained no life-threatening injuries, Boss.” 

 

He was safe; his kid was safe! Tony’s heart nearly melted in relief. Then, just as quickly, it hardened in anger. 

 

“FRIDAY, lock the windows.” 

 

“Yes, Boss.” 

 

Tony locked eyes with Peter as the kid’s chest heaved in exhaustion. “Get a shower and get some rest,” he said curtly. He didn’t trust himself to say anything else, so he left. 

 

Peter’s heart pounded in his chest and he released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He fell to his knees and ran his hands through his hair. 

 

_ He hates me _ , he thought.  _ I’ve pushed him too far. He hates me now!  _ A dry sob escaped his lips and he quickly clamped a hand over his mouth. 

 

_ Well, this is what you were aiming for, right, _ he argued with himself. 

 

He didn’t let his thoughts answer as he stumbled into his bathroom and pulled off the suit. He let the hot water wash off the dirt, grime, and dried blood. But it did little to make him feel better. He slowly walked out of the bathroom, dressed in his softest Stark Industries t-shirt and some pajama bottoms. He surveyed his room and sighed. He sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at his hands. 

 

_ There’s no way Tony will keep me now. _

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Tony went down to his workshop and started tinkering. He found that after seven hours, 36 minutes, and 12 seconds, he couldn’t sit still any longer. So he tinkered with the suits. He tinkered with his newest suit. He tinkered with the kid’s suit for all of three seconds before he grew frustrated and tossed it back onto the work table. He was tinkering with one of his cars, a classic American muscle, when FRIDAY interrupted his tinkering. 

 

“Boss, Peter seems to be in some kind of distress.” 

 

Tony paused, wrench in mid-air. “Seems to be?” 

 

“His heart rate is elevated and he’s moving around the room very quickly.” 

 

Tony crawled out from underneath the car and sat up, intrigued. “Doing what?” 

 

“Packing.” 

 

“Packing?” 

 

“Yes, that’s what I said.” 

 

“I know what you said! It was a rhetorical question.” Tony threw down his greasy rags and quickly got in the elevator. He was puzzled; why would Peter be packing? Surely the kid wasn’t dumb enough to leave  _ again _ ! The doors opened to the penthouse suite and Tony walked down the hall to Peter’s room. He paused, hand on the doorknob, and listened for a moment. His heart broke as a small sob reached his ears. The door was open before he could stop himself. 

 

“Pete?” 

 

The kid froze, a half-packed bag in one hand and a fist full of clothes in the other. Tears streaked down his cheeks and dripped off his nose. The bag thumped to the ground as Peter dropped it. He used his free hand to scrub at his eyes. “Mr. Stark, I-” 

 

“Woah, woah, woah. Since when do you call me Mr. Stark?” Tony had fought for the kid to call him by his first name, and while it had taken a month of persistent badgering, it had finally stuck. They had been on a first-name basis for at least a month. Hearing the formal  _ Mr. Stark _ made him feel old. 

 

Peter tensed, eyes glued to Tony as the man sat down on the edge of the bed. He gently pried the clothes out of Peter’s clenched fist and motioned for the boy to sit. Peter did and resolutely stared at his hands. He sniffled. Calloused fingers lifted his chin to look up at the one person he wanted to look at but couldn’t. 

 

“What’s going on, Peter,” Tony asked gently. 

 

“Mr. Star-” It earned him a glare and he quickly fixed it. “Tony.” 

 

The man nodded. “Continue.” 

 

“I...I can’t,” the boy exclaimed and turned away from his mentor again. 

 

“Pete. Look at me. Peter, I’m sorry.” 

 

“What? But-but you didn’t do anything wrong!” 

 

“Obviously I did or you wouldn’t have run out on me earlier. Like you’re trying to do again.” 

 

Peter looked down at the bag at his feet. “You were going to send me away, so I thought I’d get a head start,” he mumbled. 

 

“I’m sorry. What was that,” Tony asked sharply. “You did not just say what I think you said.” 

 

Peter scrubbed at his eyes and looked away again. He tried to mumble out another reply, but Tony cut him off. 

 

“No. Look me in the eye if you’re going to insult me.” 

 

Peter looked up at him with those sad brown eyes blurry with tears. “I-I just thought...that...I mean, you seemed pretty...uh, pretty mad earlier and um.” 

 

“That’s because I was, and still am, ‘pretty mad’ as you so eloquently put it.” 

 

“I-I thought...maybe you were m-mad enough t-to, um…” 

 

“To what? Kick you out? I signed those papers, kid, just like you. Hell, I even changed my will and put you in it. I’m not going anywhere and neither are you.” 

 

Peter collapsed in on himself and Tony caught him, forcing the kid’s head to lay against his chest. Peter sobbed quietly for a few minutes, soaking Tony’s t-shirt. “I really messed up,” Peter mumbled against Tony’s shoulder. 

 

“Yes, you did, and we’ll come back to that in a minute. But I want to know where this idea came from, that you think I’d ever punish you by kicking you out.” 

 

“I don’t know, I just thought…” Peter mumbled as he wiped his nose again. 

 

“You thought what, kiddo? Tell me what’s going on in that beautiful brain of yours.” 

 

It was easier to say now that Tony wasn’t looking at him, now that he was cocooned in warmth and safety, eyes closed in exhaustion. “I deserve it,” Peter answered quietly. “Ben and May...they...I’m too happy here. They don’t deserve that. I deserve to leave.” Peter felt himself abruptly shoved away from the warmth and held at arm’s length. 

 

“Is that what this is about,” Tony asked. When Peter didn’t answer right away, Tony scrutinized him, his genius mind reeling. “Did you cut curfew and scream at me on purpose hoping I would throw you out?” 

 

“Wha-I-I-uh...I don...um…I…” Peter stammered then sighed, his shoulders slumped forward. “Yes,” he answered quietly. 

 

“Joke’s on you, kid. It’s gonna take a lot more than a temper tantrum for me to kick you out of the tower. Out of the lab for a few weeks, now that’s a different story.” 

 

Peter looked up in defiance, but it quickly fizzled out. “Yeah, that seems fair.” 

 

Tony wrapped an arm around the kid’s shoulders and pulled him close. “For the record, I would never kick you out, kiddo. I love you too much.” Tony tucked Peter’s head under his chin. 

 

“I-I didn’t mean it. What I said earlier,” the boy said quietly as he sniffled again. “I th-think you’re a-a-a great dad.” His sniffles increased exponentially. 

 

Tony blinked in surprise. It was the first time Peter had called him dad. And Tony finally realized what this was truly all about. 

 

“I’m not trying to replace anyone, Peter. Your biological dad, Uncle Ben. Both were great men from what I’ve heard.” 

 

“But I-I’ve started thinking of you as my Dad, i-i-in my brain, you know? And it felt great! Because, like, you adopted me and all that. But then I remembered my real d-dad, and Ben, who was practically my dad, and...and...and I...I just...it hurt!” 

 

“Peter, you don’t have to call me Dad if you don’t want to. That is completely up to you. You could call me whatever you want, as long as we move past your ‘Mr. Stark’ phase.” 

 

Peter smirked through his tears. “You don’t get it. I  _ want _ to...to call you...D-Dad.” Peter blushed in embarrassment and Tony blushed with joy. “But I don’t know if I can.” 

 

“Can I ask you a question,” Tony said after a long pause. Peter nodded against his chest. “Why do you want to call me Dad?” 

 

Peter thought for a moment, about the hours spent in the workshop together, of Tony teaching him how to drive a car, how to tie a tie for that gala a few weeks ago, of Tony’s look of concern when he so much as sneezed, or anytime he ended up injured out on patrol, of late-night movie marathons, and Saturday morning cartoons complete with fruity pebbles while in their pajamas. He thought about how Tony took his phone when his grades started slipping, how he set a curfew for patrols and it was a hard 10 PM on a school night, no exceptions. Tony, there when May had died and he had no one else to turn to. Tony, teaching him how to fight better, to think smarter so he wouldn’t come home covered in bruises anymore, especially because of Flash. After all of that, it felt natural to call Tony his Dad. He  _ was _ his Dad. He did  _ Dad _ things. 

 

Peter looked up at Tony and said, “Because you  _ are _ my Dad.” 

 

“Does that make Ben and Richard any less your dads?” 

 

“No…” 

 

“Well, there’s your answer. You get three dads. Most people only get one. Unless you’re me, in which case you end up with Howard, the not-dad.” 

 

Peter’s eyes widened with realization. Was it really that simple? Tony wasn’t replacing anybody; he was joining the ranks. Peter threw his arms around Tony and buried his face in the man’s chest. “Thanks, Dad. You’re the best,” he mumbled. 

 

It was Tony’s turn to sniffle as a few stray tears rolled down his nose. “No problem, kiddo,” he said quietly as he pressed a kiss to the top of Peter’s head.


End file.
